Rocking the boat PunkPirate
by Captain Arthur
Summary: When my friend claimed that pirate England topped all other Englands, I had to prove my case. So the entire fanfiction community receives this lovely Englandcest. Oh,and Punk/Pirate...that isn't a slash mark...it's more of a fraction type thing...Disclaimer:I'd be busy writing stupid things for actors to say if I owned Hetalia.I clearly, therefore, do not. Yaoi, boyxboy, selfcest


**~After writing that last PrUK fanfiction… I have no shame. I present to you… IGGYCEST …with a lot of damns and nasty seafaring curse words~**

He was in a foul mood. But, he sort of always was. England's punk form was loose on the world once more… and he was sort of looking for himself. Not _normal_ him though, not yet. No… he needed pirate him first.

It made him smile, how much of him was everywhere, different in different ways. If someone needed to die by a British hand, you asked an England. If someone simply needed to be disposed of and you didn't care how they died, how much pain they were in, their physical state after their demise; you called Punk England. Specifically, if someone needed to be defiled and then killed cleanly, you asked for Pirate England- or the Empire of Great Britain as he preferred to be called. If someone needed to be not quite killed, you clearly required normal England's service or for them to be sucked dry; Vampire England, or brought back from the dead; Britannia Angel.

Standing in front of the Great Empire's pirate ship, Punk Britain wiped his smile away, licking his lips. He banished his train of thought- he wasn't killing anyone today. Maybe later… He strode up the gangplank, black leather boots barely making a sound on the polished wood.

Of course, he was wearing all black, everything tight. Tight fitting top- chest and abs defined, overly tight pants that were only sort of killing him and a black leather collar graced his slender neck. His hair was spiked up and he had a dangerous sort of beauty about him. Maybe it was the eyeliner.

Confident as a snake in a rat's unprotected nest, he met no resistance, the crew either gone to a bar or nonexistent. However, when he stood in front of the captain's cabin, he hesitated.

What did he expect to find-what did he hope to find? Pirate England tying his normal self up… the Empire accidently handcuffed to the bed? Pirates didn't use handcuffs, and didn't have the slightest inkling how to get them off. Shaking off his imagination with a shiver, Punk England turned the door handle and quietly stepped in, suddenly stifling laughter. His hopes were much too lofty.

The Great Piratical Empire of Great Britain was… asleep under a plethora of tattered sails which were clearly meant to be sheets. They covered him up beautifully despite their rips and tears. Well damn. That was too bad.

Punk Britain would have to fix that.

Unlacing and pulling his black boots off, he climbed into the bed like a cat, sliding under the sheet-sails to join his naked Pirate self. He took a moment to breathe, taking his head out from under the covers, surfacing. Pirate him was… he was _sexy_.

The seaman turned, lying on his back, muttering quietly. The invading country next to him smirked slightly.

Too easy.

Much like the sea, the Pirate appeared to be a turbulent sleeper, turning again, putting his back to Punk England, his soft hair falling over the eye patch softly. The Anglican currently awake felt his smirk widen, running his hands down his target's younger body, enjoying the feel of sea-toned muscles under his fingertips. Punk England winced. His pants were tighter than ever.

Again…

Damn.

The pale searching fingers reached the barely tanned hips of the other personification, stopping there. Punk England was lying on his side now, almost spooning the privateer, inches from the bare ass in front of him. Anyone in their sane mind would have stripped already. But all of England's personas had a couple things in common- like their eyebrows… and love of stripping in front of a crowd…. Or being undressed by someone else… England in his normal form would never admit to such a thing… but it really was a fetish. As with one, so with them all… Like being light sleepers.

Punk England brought his hands back up the pirate's body, caressing a sun-struck cheek a moment and then rubbing the eyebrows teasingly.

The Seaman was awake.

Most certainly awake, even though the eye patch covered the eye nearest to the other England and the other was closed in pure pleasure as those huge, magnificent eyebrows were maliciously rubbed. He squirmed in his captor's arms, only succeeding in entangling them more. Punk England gave it a moment of soft mewls and squirming before releasing his prey's eyebrows, throwing off the sheet-sails and straddling Pirate England with a smirk, licking his lips as he held himself down.

A soft blush spread across the Pirate's only slightly tanned face, his only uncovered eye glaring up at the paler version of himself. Both blinked at themselves, silently admiring how darn pretty they were. "Decided to drop by huh?" The Pirate smirked. "Wanker."

The musical magician laughed, piercing green eyes meeting the Pirate's singular one. "I couldn't stay away," His voice was silky soft. "I never can. I will admit my hopes were a little high when I boarded. I hoped that maybe you had… handcuffed yourself to the bed…. Or that normal us had dropped by for a visit…" His grin was spine-tingling.

"I don't mind a titch though. You were the main one I was after…" He purred a little, holding himself above his target. "Do me a favour… sweet Pirate?"

"And what would that be…?" The tanned blonde knew, his thumb hooking onto the black belt, undoing it and pulling it out of the belt loops with a practiced maneuver. His blush and smirk made Punk England's pants all the tighter.

"Shut up and undress me you twit." For once in his piratical life, the privateer obeyed. The belt was dropped to the bed, the calloused fingers tugging pants and boxers off, the black shirt flung into a distant corner of the room.

Both countries took a moment, green eyes eating each other up again, looking, searching each other's faces and bodies for a weakness. Then, ferociously, both countries were attacking each other, lips colliding, tongues finding each other's mouths in a dance for power. Pale hands clawed at scarred backs, fingers entangling in messy blonde hair, some of it spiked on the older country's part. Both countries were so ready, pressing against each other, Punk England's soft white body rubbing against the lightly tanned Pirate's as they basically made out violently. Finally, the musical genius pulled away, sitting on the plunderer's hips, still bent over him slightly, leaving them both panting and gasping.

It was strange to see the contrast from one to the other as they panted. Punk England seemed to heave with the breaths, shoulders shuddering, mouth open, tongue hanging out, saliva dripping onto Pirate England's chest. The latter's chest was rising and falling quickly, lips slightly parted to let the air out, eyes half closed-even if you could only see one at the moment. Punk England decided to change that.

He leaned down, tongue tracing the edge of the eye patch. Pirate England made a quiet protesting noise but was cut short as the tongue got under the patch, then the teeth grabbed it. The British Empire gave in and watched, panting, his erection hardening all the more as Punk England teased his teeth under, pulling the leather patch of with a beautiful motion, holding it in his mouth a moment for the pirate's benefit.

The Empire gasped at the both adorable and sexy sight. "Fuck me **now**." Punk England grinned around the patch, gently dropping it to the side of them, lowering himself down against his other self. "But they always say _not_ to rock the boat…" His alluring whisper made the Empire twitch, the latter snarling slightly at his own frustration. "If you won't fuck me you scoundrel, I will have you." Yet all the strength he could exert would not move the punk rocker. Instead, the older country gently licked one of the pirate's perk nubs, sucking on it gently and making all attempts to throw him off cease momentarily as a moan hit the air. His tongue reached for the other one after a moment, sucking and nibbling on that hard nub too.

Punk England grinned, kissing the toned chest in front of him lightly. He moved up, biting down on the Pirate's collarbone, teasing his neck with soft and gentle licks, then violently biting down and sucking on a small spot of the privateer's neck. Quiet moans filled the air for just a second, ending with a gentle kiss on the tortured spot.

"But… I never was much of one for rules…" Punk England drew the last word out gently, lips inches from the pirate's. His fingers traced the inside of the other's legs, gently pulling them, easing them open for better access. The paler personification let out what might have been a purr, a couple fingers tracing up all of the other England's manhood, eliciting a moan before pressing against the ship-savvy man's bruised lips gently. With a smirk, the sea-goer kissed the digits apologetically. Punk England's luminous eyes sparkled as he brought his fingers to his own lips, tongue wrapping around them and pulling them into his mouth, coating them in saliva. The privateer let out a short, primeval, mewling noise. "Please?"

Punk England smirked, something visible even in the dark. He pulled his fingers out of his mouth, pressing them against and then in the Empire's entrance, pushing the entrance open. There was no hesitation. He aligned himself enough not to miss and shoved himself in, his hips slamming against his opposite's ass. Both moaned the sound so in tune and perfect. Pirate Britain had half curled up, and was clearly trying to breathe, attempting to adjust quickly. Punk England wrapped his arms around the lithe man, pulling him to his chest, his tongue let loose again to lick Pirate England's nipples again. There was a silent threat of: hurry up, or I'll fuck you anyway. In retaliation, the privateer bit down on the beautiful slender neck before him. HE was pushed to the bed in half a second, his teeth keeping the other's neck there, but he couldn't hold the calloused hands that ran down his sides, holding his hips down.

Punk England slammed into him, wrenching his neck free with the moan. Mewling moans made the air thick, the possibly more dangerous of the two writhing as he was pounded into, the slightly more civilized one purring as his hips met fleshy ass. Every new angle brought forth more unintelligible moans and cursing from the uke, and an infinitely beautiful smile to the seme's pale lips. Punk England readjusted, going for a new angle, a scream rewarding his actions. HE slammed into the spot again, getting more writhing and more screams. With a shiver of pleasure, he slammed into Pirate England, on that one spot, again and again, enjoying the sound of the voice that was almost his own calling out for more.

And the scourge of the seven seas came with a piercing caterwaul, his sea foam washing upon the shore of Punk England's chest. As he tightened around his lover's length, the other could no longer take it either. Shoving himself in one last time, enjoying the warm, wet walls surrounding his manhood, he came with a soft cry, their voices mingling in a final note. Then there was only heavy breathing and gentle murmurs and pants.

One Britain pulled out of the other, and they both collapsed in each other's arms, sharing one last blazing kiss before the rocking of the boat lulled their tired minds to sleep.


End file.
